


Under a Blood Wolf Moon

by ScatteredWine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Sherlock, BAMF Sherlock Holmes, Bonds, Empaths, John doesn't want to bond with Mary, M/M, Magical Realism, Shapeshifters - Freeform, Sherlock and John both have supernatural abilities, Supernatural Elements, Wolfblood!John, various supernatural creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-03-17 14:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18967315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScatteredWine/pseuds/ScatteredWine
Summary: A few words about this work.About five years ago I saw a prompt that captivated me. To find out what it was exactly, please message me in private; I'm afraid it might give away some details I'm not ready to spoil upfront. I immediately knew I wanted to write it, along with a few additional ideas of my own. I eventually found someone to help with an RP. We didn't get very far, though,  and eventually she dropped out of Sherlock right between season 3 and 4.The first three chapters aren't very long and they still need a lot of polishing from the RP format. On top of that I am also desperately looking for a beta. But the good news is that they feature some seriously BAMF Sherlock, as does the rest of this work, so you have that to look forward to. :P





	Under a Blood Wolf Moon

**Author's Note:**

> A few words about this work. 
> 
> About five years ago I saw a prompt that captivated me. To find out what it was exactly, please message me in private; I'm afraid it might give away some details I'm not ready to spoil upfront. I immediately knew I wanted to write it, along with a few additional ideas of my own. I eventually found someone to help with an RP. We didn't get very far, though, and eventually she dropped out of Sherlock right between season 3 and 4. 
> 
> The first three chapters aren't very long and they still need a lot of polishing from the RP format. On top of that I am also desperately looking for a beta. But the good news is that they feature some seriously BAMF Sherlock, as does the rest of this work, so you have that to look forward to. :P

Sherlock has always been a curious boy, a child who lives for adventures. He plays with himself, and mostly doesn't mind as he has a most incredible imagination. And yet, he longs for a faithful canine companion. For you see Sherlock has always loved dogs.

 

He’s three years old when he begs his mommy for days to let him have one, refusing to eat until he gets one. Finally relenting, his mommy takes him to the local pet store and offers to get him a poodle or a terrier.

 

“A cute little puppy for a cute little boy.” Virginia Holmes coos, ruffling his fluffy curls.

 

“No, no, no! Mommy, big doggie!” He stomps his tiny foot. “I want a big dog. Like that one.” He points to an enormous mastiff and moves towards its cage.

 

Virginia gasps and swoops up her tiny son immediately.

 

“Darling, no! He’s much to large. He’ll hurt you. Even if he doesn’t mean to he'll hurt you.” She soothes, trying to assuage the now crying child who is holding out both hands in a grabby motion towards the massive dog. For his part, the mastiff just cocks his head and begins howling in unison with the boy's plaintive whines, causing a huge commotion in the pet store.

 

They end up getting a pekingese, who ends up being his mommy’s dog. Sherlock likes the small dog just fine. She’s nice enough, but she yips and is terrible for exploring with, and mommy doesn't like for her fur to get muddy at any rate. Overall, Sherlock doesn't think of her one way or another.  

 

But he still dreams of dogs. Every night, before bed, he thinks of big hunting dogs and lets his mind wash into sleep imagining running with hounds and having adventures...

 

He’s seven when he first learns about the  _wolven._

 

_*******_

 

 

The Holmes family lives in a seaside cottage, with the beach a little less than half a mile eastward. The house itself is nestled by a sparse wood, but to the west the forest grows dense and dark and goes on for miles. These woods are the only place little Sherlock is forbidden to enter.

 

Being an incredibly imaginative child he’s never run out of games to play by himself in the places where he is free to roam, having the land close to home and the beach open to himself; so it’s never been a draw for him one way or another. But today...today he knows he’ll need to explore further.

 

The morning is bright and clear, an azure sky so painfully beautiful the child has to spend several minutes on his back in the soft grasses next to the large mulberry bush just staring up at the wondrous vastness. He’s recently begun learning violin and he hums to himself an etude as he goes over in his head all that he needs to accomplish that morning.

 

Three days ago their neighbor’s golden labrador died from a poisoning. Their dogs are known to go wandering about and the prevailing thought is that they got into some poisonous bush or fungi. Worried that one of their other dogs might eat the same dangerous plant, the boy is determined to find out what caused it.

 

In his mind, he checks off all the plants and mushrooms he’s already collected and tested samples from around his home and beach, then thinks about the ones remaining. He bites his bottom lip. While he can’t be sure, the book he read about local vegetation indicates those plants are likely forest-dwelling plants. He can’t take a risk and not find out for certain; he’ll need to go into the woods to gather.   

 

He’ll have to hurry, though. He and mommy are supposed to work in their flower garden directly after lunch. They normally make it a late-afternoon activity but today daddy is having some guests from work come over and everything has been pushed up to make room for the visit.

 

He gets up and brushes the leaves and pine needles from his yellow sweater and light blue shorts, and runs as quickly as his chubby legs will carry him to the outskirts of the forest. There he begins his investigations, looking about for the berries and leaves he read in his book, and ever so slowly, he goes deeper into the woods.

 

Suddenly his mother’s voice distantly peals through the trees.

 

“Shezza! Shezza! Lunchtime, darling!”

 

_Oh no!_

_Lunch!_

 

Sherlock’s not hungry in the slightest, but if he doesn’t come home mommy and daddy will worry, and worse yet, might come look for him. If they catch the young boy this far in the woods he’ll be in trouble for sure.

 

He looks forlornly towards his empty pockets, having been unable to find any of the species he’s been searching for. It must be because they need less direct light, more of the dark damp moistness of the woods. Biting his lip he thinks about his mommy worrying. But then, his neighbor’s remaining dogs - Tago and Dougie - come to the front of his mind. They’re both large-breed mixes, sweet dogs, but not a whole lot of common sense between them. They’re always running into the woods almost as much as they love running down the beach.

 

He bites his lip and quickly makes his decision, rushing ahead into the denser tree growth. He can’t bear the thought of those dogs getting hurt when he could have done something to save them.

 

It swiftly becomes darker as the canopy thickens, allowing less and less light to filter through, which only makes it more difficult to correctly identify the leaves and berries and fungi he’s seeking.

 

Sherlock doesn’t even notice him at first, too busy hunched over a small promising looking bush growing out of the base of a massive tree root.

 

There’s an odd, far-away snuffling sound, and for a split second the boy thinks it’s one of Lawson’s dogs. He leaps up looks over in its direction. The sound changes immediately; no longer the sedate sniffing of before, what he hears now is a low, a very low, almost impossible to hear, rumble. Could that be Dougie? Surely it’s too low.

 

Sherlock climbs out from the protective shelter of the roots and scrabbles around a thicket of brambles only to come to a gasping halt.

 

It isn’t a dog. It’s a man.

 

Standing about 40 feet away, slightly obscured by a small tree and looking directly at Sherlock in such a way that any relief he might have felt  in seeing another person out here in the dark and dangerous woods where any number of huge animal could kill him, disappears, replaced by a heavy unsettling fear. The man isn’t lean but he looks gaunt, longish thick hair spilling across his bearded face. The man looks like he’s been on the run and hasn’t eaten a good meal in some time.

 

Sherlock swallows, trying to keep his pounding heart from leaping into his throat.

 

Should he says something. Hi, perhaps? He should say ‘hi’, shouldn’t he? That’s the polite thing to do. Except the man isn’t saying anything either, which is awfully disconcerting. Adults always love talking to him and Sherlock is always wishing they would leave him alone. But this man doesn’t speak, he just glares, staring at the boy as if he’s a particularly juicy meal, eyes predatory, tongue darting out and licking his lips. His nostrils are flaring, like he’s still trying to scent something. Sherlock has the harrowing feeling it’s he the man is trying to smell.

 

Quite quickly the child has the enormous urge to run away. A cursory scan of his periphery is all it take for him to know he’s got a very good chance. There’s a long distance between them, lots of bushes and brambles and fallen logs the man will have to cross to reach him, and plenty of others for Sherlock to hide in, not to mention lots of trees he could climb up. He’s a good hider and a good climber.

 

The boy takes an apprehensive step backwards and it happens so fast upon Sherlock could swear the man reacted before he did. That deep animal rumble resounds once more, louder this time, as the man bolts forward at a full run, growling, snarling. Sherlock begins turning to run away himself when he sees something that freezes the boy to the spot.

 

The man isn’t a man -- or he is, but, ---

 

Almost like a mirage, the man’s shape hulks out over his form, a vision superimposed, though the man remains as well. It’s unmistakably a man who is lunging towards him but it’s more -- it’s also an enormous creature, wolf like but much, much bigger.

 

Sherlock screas. His tiny knees buckle.

 

The outer wolf shape, fuzzy at first, as it approaches at inhuman speed, clarifies, solidifying until it’s a feral massive wolf, a slobbering entity getting closer and closer.

 

Go! Go! Go! Sherlock cries to his body, but it betrays him like it never has before and instead he crumples over, folding over himself on the forest floor.

 

“Please, don’t!” He screams, out loud this time, as he peers up at the wolf - more than a wolf. The enormous beast has now travelled more than three-fourths the distance towards him.

 

Sherlock is going to die. He knows that now. In another second the wolf is going to reach him and rip him apart. He hopes it’s quick.

 

He thinks of his mommy. She will be sad but she’ll be okay. He thinks of Mycroft, how he will be sad but also too busy to care much. Then he thinks of Tago and Dougie. They might die now.

 

_He was so close and now it was all for naught._

 

**_No!_ **

 

A lurch of defiant bitterness and anger swells up inside the boy. He grimaces up at the giant wolf, nearly upon him now, so close he catched the beetle black eyes of the beast; his mind screaming just one word over and over.

 

**_STOP!_ **

 

He tucks his forehead down against his tiny knees and covers himself as best his can with his skinny arms. In that very instant the creature is upon him; he feels its hot breath snorting across his exposed skin.

 

It’s over. He’s dead.

 

Shivering violently, he doesn’t dare look up, not even when the seconds tick by and he isn’t torn apart or eaten. He can sense the wolf is now circling around him, snapping and growling, no doubt waiting for the right angle to attack.

 

Sherlock trembles and whimpers, and thinks, _Please I Want to Live_

 

It continues like this for minutes. Then, several more minutes pass. Time slips by, on, and yet the wolf continues his slow pace around the boy, not attacking but not stopping either. Sherlock is ever aware of its heat, and its salivating snarling fervor.

 

He doesn’t know how much time has gone by like this, perhaps hours even, but eventually, through the din of the beast’s teeth gnashing a distinctly human male’s voice is heard, though muffled like he’s still some distance away but the wolf’s noises have caught his attention. “Ho! Who goes there? Stop and stay where you are!”

 

Sherlock gasps and lifts his head, taking the risk in the hopes he’ll be seen before the wolf can attack. If he remains small and folded on the ground the man might miss him completely.   

 

His mouth falls open. His would-be devourer of huge proportions shivers and withdrawals, going fuzzy again, reducing and shifting  back down to become the man he was before.

 

“Thomas, Oi! Come quick.  I think I’ve found him.”

 

Sherlock stands up on shaky legs now that he’s sure the man is close enough to see them. Quite the pair they must make, too: a dirty vagrant with a leering look and a small frightened child.

 

Another person comes crashing through the thicket. This one is wearing a uniform of some kind and carrying a rifle by his side.

 

“That’s him alright. Carl Powers, you fucker, you remain exactly where you are.” The second man yells as he raises his rifle.  The man - Carl - gives that same low growl that reminds Sherlock of that snarl he heard before the beast first attacked and transformed.

 

“He’s a wolf! Be careful!” Sherlock screams.

 

Both men whip their heads in his direction.

 

“What on Earth…? Boy, are you alright?”

 

“He’s going to run. He’s a wolf.” Sherlock cries again. These idiots are acting like they’re dealing with a ne'er-do-well man, not a blood-thirsty beast.

 

“Come here, kid.” The second man commands.

 

Sherlock eagerly follows the order, feeling the feral man’s dark eyes bore into the back of his head.

 

“Don’t you dare move.” The second man spits out.

 

He’s quickly hoisted up into the arms of the first man. “Where are you from little one? Did he kidnap you? Are you hurt.”

 

“No, no. He didn’t kidnap me. He was going to eat me! He’s a wolf,” He exclaims, pointing to the man, who, Sherlock notes with horror, has his pitch black eyes fixed directly on him and on no one else, not even the rifle still trained on his head.

 

“Wolf? Did you hit your head, boy?” The first man asks, both incredulous and concern bleeding through his voice.

 

“This man is a very dangerous man, kid. He ain’t no wolf but he’s a killer alright. Trey, take the child home. I’ll take care of Carl here.”

 

“No, you have to listen to me." Sherlock screams. "He’s not a man; he’s a wolf. He’ll kill you!” Sherlock shrieks and screams, using his tiny fists to bat at the man's shoulders as he's carried away back through the woods, and eventually taken home.

**Author's Note:**

> It would mean so very much to me if you would leave a comment or kudos.


End file.
